


Rodin the Kid Detector

by MaeDay (Wolf_Shadow)



Category: Bayonetta (Video Games)
Genre: Drama, F/F, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, Pregnancy, Romance, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-20 11:18:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13716582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolf_Shadow/pseuds/MaeDay
Summary: Cereza and Jeanne are finally living the life they dreamed of so many centuries ago.Despite the loss of their home and culture, they've found peace in their love for one another and with the freedom they thought they'd never achieve.Now that the grand schemes of Gods and Madmen seem to have finally come to an end, they enjoy their jobs, their hobbies, their drinks and angel slaying like proper Umbra should.Until they unwittingly set themselves down the most terrifying path in life imaginable, Parenthood.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Utterly self indulgent kid!fic I have been working on and off for literally years.  
> In celebration of our Queens being released on the switch and in hype for the third game, I'm posting the start of what I have in the hopes that other fans, both old and new, will enjoy this odd romp. :)
> 
> Takes place after Bayonetta 2 and follows the same universe as the rest of my Bayo fics.

“You would not believe the week I’m having,” Her smooth voice cut through the silent air of the bar, words gliding over the sounds of traffic that drifted in from the open door behind her.

Rodin didn't bother to look up from his work, his hands occupied in arranging bottles of alcohol in neat lines as she let the double doors to the bar clatter shut, the city noise immediately muffled.

Unperturbed by the lack of response from the proprietor, she moved forward. The sharp click of high heels punctuating her words as she began a languid stride through the empty room. “My business associate runs completely out of work for the first time ever, an odd trick for a con man if I say so myself,” 

She watched Rodin pull a bottle off the self, inspect the label and the level of the liquid before placing it back with a nod of satisfaction.

“sudden arguments with my girlfriend over the smallest things; that woman is more tense than a cat trapped in a dog house,”

He reached for another bottle on the shelf, one she recognized as a favorite of hers, and then stopped dead. His huge hand suspended in mid air and head turned slightly back at her.

With a slight upturned quirk of one eyebrow, she strode down to the bar and moved to lean against the countertop. Finishing off her glib complains with: “and to complete my tale of woe, just when I find myself surrounded by uninvited guests from on high, and it looked like all the fun kind of trouble was going to start, the whole feathered flock flew away!"

Rodin finally turned to look at her, his expression blank and hands empty. A rather unusual display on his part, though she could forgive him. It had been a bit too long since she’s been ‘allowed’ out for a drink and it was a touch earlier (or later, depending on what side of the clock you ventured upon ) than he would normally serve anyone.

Still, she flashed him her best devil-may-care grin and tilted her head to the side. “So I think you’ll agree that I’m rather in need of a good stiff drink.”  
He still didn't say anything, didn't even move, and while his stoicism was in character, his lack of a joke or a return jibe was not. 

After a long moment in which he seemed to be studying her, he picked up one of his ridiculously small glasses and then turned back to the wall of booze. Only he didn’t reach up for her choice drink, moving instead to a mini fridge under the back counter.

Both her brows rose at this and she craned her neck, trying to see around his broad back to catch a glimpse of what he was doing. Never in the twenty years since her awakening had she seen him retrieve a drink from the fridge (hadn’t even really known it was there ) and she watched with interest. He blocked any hope of view as he opened the fridge door, pulled something out of it and then stood at the back counter as he pored. He even managed to keep the container hidden from view as he turned and set the glass down before her.

With a curious tilt of her head and slight smirk across her lips, she picked up the glass by the tips of her fingers, swirled the contents once, and then downed it back in a single drink. Only to flinch at the bright sweetness across her tongue,the sour aftertaste not hiding the utter lack of anything remotely resembling the burn of alcohol.

She hummed lowly, faced twisting into a frown as she lowered the glass and briefly flicked her tongue against the back of her teeth. Trying to place the flavor. 

“Rodin, your drinks are getting dreadful. All that flair and no kick?” She teased with a faint lit to her tone, though she wore a neutral expression. “People will start to think the dump is losing its infamous touch.” she set the glass down on the bar with a sharp click and tapped her nails along the glass base. “Pour me another, and this time do be a dear and make sure there is actual alcohol in it.” 

Rodin folded his arms and shifted off to one side, affording her a view of the back counter and the drink jug. It was pink lemonade, ‘Simple’ pink lemonade if the brand name was taken into consideration. With a raised brow, her gaze flicked from the jug to Rodin and back again, now recognizing the lingering flavor on her tongue.

"Not a chance, Bayonetta," Rodin drew her gaze to him with a flat tone. "I'm not in the business of harming children." 

Bayonetta rolled her eyes. After a long night and a low burning irritation that set her and Jeanne off on a hissy argument, she was in no mood for jokes. "Funny Rodin, very funny, but I'm rather certain I'm a big girl and can handle myself. Or do I need to supply you with another Heaven's worth of halos so I can kick your well defined ass over again to convince you otherwise?" She flashed a challenging smirk, and waved the dainty and sadly empty glass at him.

Without a word, he plucked it from her fingers and filled it right back up with the same sweet lemonade, sans anything stronger. "I'm well aware you're all grown up, even starting to behave like it with the way you trot around with that pretty girlfriend of yours."

Her smirk flickered as he set it down before her, but before she could tease or threaten (she wasn't sure which she would do first), he went on. "but that one," and he pointed at her. "That little one isn't, she won't handle your drinks well. I do a lot of questionable things, but harming kids ain't one of them."

She raised a brow and took up the glass, swirling it around once before downing half of it in a single gulp. "Rodin dear, I'm beginning to think you may be sampling your merchandise a bit too often, or perhaps you were struck over the head a bit too hard the last time you crafted one of your lovely toys for me." she set the glass down and tipped her head, "You seem to be talking in riddles, or seeing things, and I'm not certain which option is less frightening where you are concerned."

Rodin folded his arms and seemed to study her for a long moment, "You really don't know, do you? Can't tell at all?"

The air of ease she normally gained upon entering the bar was flickering out, uncharacteristic irritation beginning to burn low in her chest.  
"Tell what?" She snapped as she straightened and placed her hands on her hips. "All I know is that I'm not getting pleasantly drunk at the moment, and you're talking nonsense."

"Jeanne hasn't said anything?" Now he seemed puzzled, and that was bordering on frightening. Rodin didn't do 'puzzled', or really anything that wasn't over the top stoicism and violence.

Bayonetta let out a frustrated sigh. "She says lots of things, I don't see what that has to do with anything."

Rodin raised a brow and pointed at her again, but this time she noticed that he was purposefully pointing down, right at her abdomen. "You mean to tell me neither of you are aware of that little heartbeat going on in your belly?"

She flinched back, feeling her insides twist. “Heartbeat? Rodin, what are you-“

“You’re pregnant, Bayonetta.”

Her lips parted, but only silent air passed between them. For a long moment, the Dump was dead silent.

“Funny, Rodin, very funny, did you lose a bet with Enzo for that little joke?” Bayonetta felt her lips tug back into a grin as she took a drink of lemonade, enjoying the sweetness for what it was now that his joke had run it’s course and she would be getting something with a bit more kick. “Though I must say, if you were attempting to get an amusing rise out of me, you should have chosen something that was at least plausible.” she finished the drink and slid the glass towards him a second time. 

Rodin ignored the glass, blank face staring down at her.

The silence stretched on and on, broken only by the muffled background of city traffic. Then, shockingly, Rodin sighed and reached one large hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Just when I think I’ve heard it all, witches unaware of their wombs. World get’s a little less stable everyday.” he dropped his hand and leaned against the bar, face etched in serious lines. “You and Jeanne have been monogamous right?”

Bayonetta straightened up, eyes narrowing and brows drawn tight, her body bristling with crimson irritation. “This joke has played out it’s amusement, Rodin, and insinuating I’ve been cheating for the sake of drawing it out is in very poor taste.”

“Had to ask, might have made a bit more sense than what I’m hearing.”

“Me cheating on Jeanne and getting knocked up like some silly teenager makes more sense than what? Pink elephants accusing Enzo of undercharging them? Because that’s the level of sense I’m getting out of this conversation.” she snapped, temper frayed. “I didn’t think you had much of a sense of humor, but one this warped? That’s odd even for you.” 

"The two of you been fighting a lot?" Rodin didn't so much as twitch at her tone, a lesser being would have quailed.

She scoffed “Yes,” she bit back, “I did just mention the arguments, were you not listening?” 

“Either of you been feeling antsy or nervous for no reason? Jeanne been a bit more protective or possessive than usual?”

“Considering her usual protective streak extends to jumping in front of demons for me, I don’t think it’s possible for her to become more protective.”

“What about possessive?”

Bayonetta opened her mouth to whip out another retort, but stilled just as suddenly, the word echoing in her head-

“-so possessive! It’s very unbecoming!”  
“And making eyes at everyone who walks past you is?!”

The argument from not even a few hours past played in her mind, Jeanne’s silver eyes flashing bullet accusations Bayonetta’s way, lips striking out bladed irritations over things they had worked out years ago.  
The way her hand had slipped to Bayonetta’s and how she’d coiled their fingers serpentine close as they walked down the street yesterday, her lithe body slipping subtly between Bayonetta’s and anyone else they approached. 

These things she had noticed, but shrugged off as a passing irritation on Jeanne’s part, such times came and went, it was as much part of her personality and their relationship as Bayonetta’s tendency to idly flirt... with everyone.

She blinked, the dim room coming back into focus as she pulled back from her thoughts, and gave Rodin a scrutinizing glare.

“Supposing perhaps Jeanne has indeed been a bit more… jealous lately. What does that have to do with anything? Especially my lack of a good drink?” she clicked her gloved nails against the countertop, feeling her irritation bleed into unease. Something strange was going on, she’d known that for a while, but had been unable to place what it was…

“Mean’s a few things are still working, even if the operator isn’t aware of it.” Rodin reached back and grabbed the lemonade without looking. Pouring another ‘round’ into the glass and sliding it back, he then rested both his palms on the counter and leaned closer, face deadly serious. “You and Jeanne have had your heads messed with more than once, so I can understand you two slipping up like a couple of uninformed teenagers, but you both better get this particular magical biology lesson remembered real quick ‘cause you’re both gonna be dealing with the consequences.” 

She slowly raised the glass and took a sip, watching with building unease as he plucked two more dainty glasses and then a single beer stein from under the bar. “Umbra witches,” he indicated the glasses, “official ones anyway, were always women, and for a while they had to scrounge around for suitable men,” he tapped the stein, “if they wanted to perpetuate a bloodline.” he moved one of the glasses to the stein and lightly clicked them together, then produced a shot glass from absolutely nowhere and set it between the two. “The sages had a similar process with suitable women, by the way, only the two clans were very careful to never cross their wires... well, until you.”

She narrowed her eyes, frown deepening. 

“Anyway, it worked for a long while, girls would sometimes be born to normal families and show enough talent to be Umbran, and current Umbran would produce strong daughters to continue their line, but there were always a few daughters born that didn’t have a good enough grip on the dark arts to ever become fully fledged witches. Wasn’t much of a problem for most, but a few of the elites had started to worry about wasted potential. What if the mundane blood of men caused some daughters to be born weaker? What if they didn’t need men at all?”

Icy fear clenched her guts suddenly, his words bringing up a dizzying deja vu that spilled out of her head a few seconds before his words spilled from his mouth. 

Rodin moved the first glass back to the second, tapped the two together with a crystalline ring and again produced a sudden shot glass, only this one was a deep purple. 

“Didn’t take them long to figure out they could get the results they wanted ‘in-house’ so to speak, after all, to women who summon demons with their hair, a bit of blood magic is nothing.” He idly removed the stein and first shot glass, then pressed the two glasses together until they touched, the purple shot glass still sitting in front of them. “Umbra witches had always paired with their own kind anyway, only now they could produce from their pairings, and it only made them stronger. No more daughters born without magic, old bloodlines uniting into powerful children who grew into powerful women. Really not hard to see why they did so much better than the sages in the war.”

She said nothing in reply, mind only half engaged in his words, the rest of her was slowly dawning onto a fresh terror she’d never imagined.

“Last I heard was that the ‘ritual’ had become so common that witches could do it without much preparation, but it still took a conscious effort. Gotta say, this is probably the first and only time I’ve heard of two Umbra conceive by accident.” He inclined his head towards her. “Well done, that’s gotta be some kind of record.”

Bayonetta reflexively downed the lemonade, her mind churning into a froth of panic that made her choke. She coughed harshly, setting the glass back down and staring blankly at the bar top. She couldn’t really be… it was preposterous. Spells and magic and summonings did not equal that kind of thing. 

But even as she thought this, her mind replayed ancient memories from the library of Luna; teenaged versions of herself and Jeanne pouring over books from Jeanne’s current lessons, both of them trying very hard not to blush as they went over the Umbran biology and reproduction section, of her Mummy smiling fondly from behind her mask when young Cereza asked where babies came from. 

She felt sick.

Worse, she realized this wasn’t the first time she’d been nauseous recently. She’d reasoned it off to bad sushi or a touch too much wine the night before, but witches were rarely affected by such things.

She swallowed and looked up at Rodin, finding no comfort in his stoic expression, no joke or game behind the nearly solid black sunglasses. No lie in his posture.

“You’re wrong.” her voice trembled at the edges and she forcibly cleared her throat, making her next words come out steady and strong. “I don’t know what’s got your powers all crossed Rodin, but you’ve got a wrong reading. There is no way I’m pregnant, because for me to be pregnant, Jeanne would have had to ‘get’ me pregnant, and she could never do that.”

“Couldn’t or wouldn’t?” Rodin asked.  
Her throat stuck. Unable to answer as she considered the implications of his question, her mind still bringing up unwanted points to support his claim. Her unusual tiredness, Jeanne polishing Angel Slayer twice in one week, the way she had been fretting over the state of the house… 

“Either way, doesn’t change the fact that she did, and now the two of you better get to figuring things out fast. If I’m detecting your newest addition, you can bet that others will be as well, and they aren’t quite as fond of kids as I am.” 

That made her insides twist in a terrifyingly unexpected way, and she fought down an unwelcome bolt of primal fury, the kind of which she hadn't felt since Loptr had mauled a defenceless Loki, the kind she'd first felt when a brainwashed Jeanne had taunted her about young and scared Cereza hiding somewhere in a falling plane.

She shook her head sharply, forcing these feelings down and glaring at the barman . "You're wrong, Rodin. I'm not pregnant, so there's nothing for anyone to detect, nothing I need to protect."

"Tell that to the angels who bailed on your fight, you know better than anyone that they don't tend to back down, and I never mentioned protecting, that's your maternal instincts kicking in." He nodded and adjusted the sparkling glasses on the countertop, scattering splinters of light across the room, "That's good, you'll need 'em."

"I am not pregnant!" Bayonetta snapped, slapping her hand against the bar and straightening up, her face twisted in anger. "I don't know what's going on in the world to make it all go insane around me, warped demons or reappearing gods or yet another adventure through time, any number of ridiculous reasons are, and forever will be more believable than the nonsense you're spouting at me." She turned on her heel and stalked towards the door, "If you decide to stop playing this poor excuse for a joke, do let me know so I can enjoy a good drink."

"You gonna pay for the three you just had?" Rodin called after her.

She paused in the doorway just long enough to send him a scowl, "Put the 'simple sampler' on Enzo's tab, I think he owns me just enough money this week to cover a cup of juice." And then she was out of the door and back on the busy Manhattan streets.


	2. Chapter 2

Dressed in her umbran best, annoyed at the world and lacking any outlet to justify either, Bayonetta decided against hailing a cab. She knew Manhattan taxi drivers had seen more oddities than she, yet she she didn't feel much like spinning amusing tales or flirting for distraction. 

A quick flick of her wrist and she was stalking down the near empty street in Purgitorio, staccato steps carrying her along the pavement with a deep frown creasing her face. 

Places passed by in a faded blur, her mind far too mired in irritation and snagging on Rodin's foolish words to pay any kind of attention to her surroundings, and by the time the early morning work rush had begun to flood the sidewalks and streets, she found herself on the edges on the city, the landscape fading from symmetrical steel into seamless suburbia.

She paused for a moment, forcing herself to calm down enough to consider her situation. 

Jeanne was at work for the day and the two of them were still irritated at one another after their tiff, so it was probably for the best. Luka was god-knows-where doing god-knows-what, she’d simply given up on trying to locate him, he’d just show up at the right place at the right time and there wasn’t much to be done about it. Enzo had no work and she’d found no enjoyment out of bossing him around, especially when he was in one of his rare content moods and didn’t retaliate to her bait. The Dump had been her normal haunt for much of the past twenty years, Rodin her guide and friend (not that he didn’t profit from the situation, but she could hardly blame him), but that had been very effectively shut down for the rest of the day, perhaps the rest of the week if she wanted to be spiteful. 

Well, there was nothing else to be done, she should just go home and enjoy some quiet time.  
Home, which was another five miles away, and she was far enough out of the city that simply hailing a taxi was not an option. 

With an exasperated sigh and a roll of her eyes, Bayonetta lunged forward. A flare of magic coursed over her body, arranging bone and muscle into new places and shapes within the span of a second, and her hands came down upon the pavement as black coated paws. A thrilled rumble rattled through her chest as her back legs met the ground and then drove her massive panther form forward in a mighty bound. She streaked down the still sidewalks with wild abandon, crisp morning air breezing along her sleek coat and filling her nose with a heady mix of city perfume -foggy car exhaust, clear dew upon grass yards, the subtle tickle of warming pavement- a wave of scents her human nose only ever caught wisps of.  
She could hear fragments of conversations and the morning newscasts coming from inside the houses she bolted past, but she paid them no attention, far too thrilled with the stretch and pull of her feline muscles, the racing of her blood, the thrill of the run.

She raced past block after block, until the neatly arranged homes and pristine yards grew further apart. Fences shrinking or disappearing altogether as the landscape morphed from suburbs to soft rural housing developments. Patches of bountiful trees began to spring up on either side of the road, their uneven patterns maintained with careful precision and planning. Yet as she ran on -the sidewalk under her paws abruptly ending at a fourway stop- the careful culling of the foliage faded, and the true randomness of nature became clear in the unkept branching of the brush, the thickness of the trees.

The route was familiar and calming, and though she sprinted past a few cars making their way up or down the road, it was practically abandoned. Especially by contrast to the hussle of the inner city. 

Around a slight bend in the road came another familiar sight, the stark red glow of a Cherum brand gas station flickering into view. The spinning bullseye sign making a sorely tempting target, but she ignored the temptation to shoot something, and instead slowed her pace to a trot. Though it was not far from the convenience of the city and it’s shops, the station offered a select range of groceries and other necessities. It was frequented by those, such as herself, who lived out on the edges of the countryside. Much as she enjoyed the rush of city traffic, she would admit that the quiet ease of the place was quite handy for a multitude of reasons. 

Speaking of which…

She came to an abrupt halt right in front of the station, and her panther body immediately gave way to her human form. Utterly unperturbed by the sudden shift. Bayonetta folded her arms and pressed her lips together, staring at the entrance to the station.

“Ah!” she adjusted her glasses with a smug flourish. “Now I remember, sauce for dinner tonight, that’s what I need.” she took a cursory glance around the open parking lot and still street before flicking her wrist, stepping through the newly created glyph and out from Purgatorio. “I do hope they have the right brand, anything less than top quality doesn't do the recipe justice.” 

The jingle of bells announced her entrance to the store, and the cashier behind the counter glanced up just long enough to catch her eyes before looking back down at her magazine with slow interest. A teenager with bleached hair and attitude that oozed from her every motion, she was probably from one of the many moderately wealthy families that owned country homes out in this direction. 

Bayonetta ignored the girl in turn, she’d been in the station often enough that none of the staff so much as second glanced at her attire, that and her temper was still shimmering enough that she had no interest in playful banter, even with an easily riled teenager. She made her way down the low shelves of food products and found the correct brand of sauce without trouble -though she supposed she shouldn’t be all that surprised, the place was catering to the ‘moderately’ wealthy and infinitely highbrow-, and had just turned down another aisle to head to the cashier when her eyes snagged on a particular display of products.  
Adult oriented product such as feminine hygiene and condoms, but what had really caught her interest were the…. pregnancy tests.

Rodin’s words snaked across her mind, and she gnashed her teeth together in irritation, trying to blot out the way her mind began to puzzle together all the various oddities that had been occurring as of late. 

“Ridiculous. “ she muttered heatedly, but still she hesitated. 

Rodin certainly had been getting the wrong signals, she was sure of it. Yet… 

Her fingers plucked the cheapest test from the shelf without total conscious thought, and she throttled the crest of fear the action brought with cold reasoning. Magic senses could be wrong, science would prove this. 

She deposited the items on the counter with more nervous self consciousness than she had felt in nearly twenty-five years, and silently cursed Rodin for setting her so off balance. She managed to flash the cashier a winning smile, and her tone was even as she spoke. “Bit of an early shift you’ve got here.”

The girl barely glanced Bayonetta’s way or at the things she rung up with deft swiftness before depositing them in a plastic bag. “Suppose.” she drawled with a slight shrug of one shoulder. “Better than graveyard through, less creeps too. That’ll be Nine ninety-two.” 

Flicking a card from her summon void -the same place she stored her artillery when not in use- she swiped it quickly, and returned it to storage without catching the girls interest. “I suppose that’s true, though you should really stay on the lookout for ‘creeps’ at every hour.” she took the bag and started walking towards the door. “You might be surprised at the kind of odd company that can swing in from out of nowhere.”

She walked several yards down the road before glancing back to make sure she was out of sight, casually stepped back into Purtatorio, sent her purchases to the void, and then dashed forward once again, leaping through the air and back into panther form.

Fields and trees appearing at greater intervals the further she ran, but it took only a few more minutes of running before she reached a familiar driveway curving off the main road, a stylized black and white mailbox standing sentinel alongside the paved path. 

She slowed to a trot here, the well trimmed trees on either side providing cool shade as she made her way forward. The driveway slithered a long curving turn to the right, and then a sharper turn towards the left, the strategically placed foliage hiding the house from view of the main road. 

It made for a bit of a long walk home, or so she often complained to Jeanne, to which she only only ever received a smirk and the occasional ass slap.  
‘You’re glad we’re safe from prying eyes Cereza, how else would you get away with strutting around in those little outfits of yours?’

A rough cat-huff dispelled any tangled emotions stirring in her chest. She was still angry, though over what, she wasn’t fully sure anymore.

Rounding the last turn, she found the welcome sight of home bathed in warming morning sun. A single story modern house painted all in white and trimmed in black, bedecked with wide bay windows and pristine covered porch. Placed in the center of a wide lawn and neatly surrounded by meticulous flowerbeds, it shone like a perfect pearl in a display of gem fragments. 

She shifted back to human form when she reached the sidewalk and stalked up to the porch, idly waving her hand to dispel the glyphs and protection wards set into the stones of the cement and the wood of the porch stairs. 

Without breaking her stride, Bayonetta snapped her fingers and sauntered right through the front door as it soundlessly slid open before her.  
She then paused in the entranceway to the house -the door clicking shut behind her- placed her hands on her hips and cast a critical gaze across the open space of her home. Sunlight bloomed warm and bright through the broad windows, reflecting off the polished granite counters of the kitchen to her right and diffusing across the plush white pillows of the upholstery occupying the living room on her left.

Tipping her head to the side and giving a satisfied smirk at the silent order of the place, Bayonetta strode into the kitchen and plucked her grocery bag from thin air. Her humor faded at the sight of the contents, the oblong jar of sauce sitting rounded and subtle in the plastic wrapping and the test… it’s rectangular box bit at the white bag, sharp corners digging into the stretch of the Cherub logo as if it was trying to escape.

She set the bag on the counter and stared at it for a long moment, mind churning over a froth of anger tinged with the same cold fear she’d been feeling since leaving the bar.

She scoffed. What was to be afraid of? Rodin was losing his marbles, or was toying with her for some unknown reason.

No matter how much her mind reasoned with her otherwise. She was just seeing a series of coincidences, nothing else. 

Bayonetta quickly fought through the annoying cling of the plastic to retrieve the box and flipped over to read the instructions.  
“Simple enough,” she muttered, making a face at the directions. “Four minutes before results…” she left the sauce in the bag and headed through the living room, right into the hallway that lead to the personal rooms. “Enough time to clean up and start on the sauce.” 

Though the doors to her left and right, the guest room and the study, were firmly shut, the door at the end of the hall was open, and she stepped through it with a quick glance to the neatly made bed on the far wall. Satin comforter and silky decorative pillows seamlessly in place, Jeanne must have tidied before she’d gone to work, an odd departure from her normal routine, she must have still been in a frustrated state if she'd bothered to tidy up before leaving. 

The master bedroom was as opulent as the rest of the house, though it had a soft personal touch that reflected both its occupants. Several bookshelves stood against the walls, crowded with tomes ranging from thick historical volumes to wispy romance novels, many of these sharing shelf space with an assortment of stuffed animals and charms. Paintings of big cats and flowers broke up the otherwise flat plain of charcoal colored walls, and each of the dressers on either side of the bed glittered with a small fortunes worth of elegant jewelry.  
All of it was spotlessly clean and strategically placed, a theme that carried on into the attached master bathroom. Spacious bathtub and luxurious granite sink countertop glittering in the warming sunlight that streamed through the windows. 

She was stalling and she knew it, taking extra time to examine the fine points of her living space and to ignore the too heavy presence of the box in her hand. She flipped it over it her palm and examined the directions again, noticing for the first time that the box held two test strips, not just one.  
“Not like I’ll ever be needing another of these in the future,” she muttered, “good guard against the possibility of a false positive too.” her nails dig into the side of the box and she hesitated before the going through the open bathroom door. She took in a sharp breath and gnashed her teeth. “Ridiculous, and I’ll prove it.” she stepped through the door and closed it behind her.

 

Washing her hands afterwards she glanced dubiously down at the two sticks now resting on a paper towel, noting that each of them were slowly ticking down the seconds until they would give her the reading. 

Not that she was all that concerned about the outcome, she knew what the result would be of course, but the sooner she could dispel the unease Rodin had effectively laid into her mind, the better. That and the quicker she could dispose of the things in a place Jeanne wouldn’t accidently spy them, that was not a conversation she was interested in having. 

Sighing and flicking stray water from her hands, she reached for a hand towel and left the room while still drying her hands. “Well,” she said through a breath, tossing the damp hand towel in the hamper by the door, “that’s taken care off, time to start on dinner, that chicken needs to marinate for hours before it’s perfect.” she glanced down at her now partially undone umbran uniform and shrugged one shoulder before withdrawing it completely. “No sense risking any stray hairs either.” she added glibly, striding over to her dresser and pulling out a pair of comfortable slacks and a form fitting grey shirt. “Don’t need a suprise summoning dinner, that would ruin the wine bouquet.” 

Her amusement over her own joke was short lived as she dressed, and her steps back to the kitchen were slow and burdened, mouth still creased in a frown. But then she reached the kitchen and deftly plucked the needed cookbook from the self, the nagging feeling her her mind carefully being smothered by the sound of rattling pans, the internal calculations of ingredient measurements, and finally, the slow humming that began low in her throat and absently worked it’s way upwards until she was gliding around the kitchen to her own tune of ‘Scarborough Fair’. 

The sauce successfully mixed with minimal mess across the kitchen, and a succulent organic chicken placed in a pyrex dish with sightly more of an oily mess across polished granite, Cereza found that simply humming her tunes was not enough to satisfy her rhythm. Idly adjusting the sauce dish once, she snapped her fingers and sent out a weak pulse of energy that jolted the record player in the living room to life. As the music crackled on, a weak rebound of her magic pulsed back at her. Not an usual thing to happen, given the amount of magic in the house, but the odd twinge of a reply that pinged from somewhere in her belly made her flinch in surprise. 

She froze, dripping ladle of sauce suspended above the chicken, eyes staring down at her abdomen.  
Swallowing hard, her lips then parted as she drew in a panicked breath, her other hand slipped from the counter and reached slowly down towards her belly. 

No.

Dropping the ladle back into the saucepan with an audible ‘plop’, Bayonetta stalked out of the kitchen and across the living room with loping strides, good music and mood forgotten in the wake of glacial fear. Her steps faltered once, right before her bathroom door, but a driving need to know forced her forward.

No.

Four thin lines on two tiny screens said yes.

Positively yes.

NO.

She brought one hand to her mouth and the other pressed back along wall as she sagged against it, her breathing uneven and shallow as she stared down at the test stripes and their traitorous positive readouts. 

NO.

The hand against the wall rose, hesitated, and then moved towards her belly once again, a faint purple glow of magic casting over her skin. Just a bit of flare, a tiny outpour of energy that had no focus, but one which received a soft response from her belly, a fuzzy sort of vibration that increased in strength as her hand moved closer. And through that feeling of static grew a rapid rhythm, steady and very present.  
Her hand settled against her body just above her bellybutton and the rhythm was now almost drumming against her palm. Warmth spreading from her hand, diving below her skin to somewhere within and then back again.  
An echo of magic  
encasing  
a heartbeat.

Shit.  
yes

“Oh god.” 

She could feel it, a tiny something inside her body that wasn’t quite her, pulsing life and magic in a wavery echo, and in that moment she wondered how she hadn’t sensed it before.  
Biting at her lower lip, she eased off the magic flowing from her hand, the resulting return from her belly fading with it, only this time she tuned herself into the source.  
The flicker of magic was still there, ebbing and then flaring slightly with every beat of that little heart she could now ‘hear’. 

Yes.  
“I’m pregnant.” she whispered from behind her hand, eyes staring down at herself but not really seeing anything.  
Her legs gave out and she slid to the floor, bottom unceremoniously meeting cold tile hard enough to make her flinch. All the while that faint patter buzzed along her nerves, low and eager and so very there.

She only aware of the little heartbeat for a very long while, sitting with her back to the wall, hand still over her mouth. The only movement she made was to slide her hand up under her shirt and press her palm against her skin, feeling nothing but her own warmth. But she knew that would change, in a few scant months, her hand would be cupping a slight curve, a few months more and her belly would begin to swell out, rounding in order to make room for its new occupant, eventually it would begin to protrude and-

She choked at the mental image, skin crawling with the alien concept of her body shifting, changing, subtlety sliding right out of her control-

The heartbeat shifted. 

Her own panicked heart lurched, and she froze in place, a fresh new kind of terror spreading through her limbs.

It didn’t stop, the little heartbeat, but it’s rhythm changed, the low hum of magic spiking up in hard lines she could feel through her hand.  
And it was only then she realized her own magic was fizzing dangerously around her. Emotionally charged and unstable, the free floating dark energy rattled the mirrored medicine cabinet, threatening to break the glass, the lightbulb overhead flickered spastically even through the switch was set to ‘off’. 

With a shuddering breath, Cereza forced herself to calm down. Conflicting sources of terror warred within her mind, and she tried to sort through them, only to find herself miring in the drowning feeling all over again. Another shift from her belly dammed the fear marsh down to a single stream, a briny mix of agitation and worry.

Worry for the baby. 

Her magic crackled sharply, the mirrors and windows shuddering, threatening to shatter--  
and then Bayonetta seized her power back, wrestling it down with rigid determination. 

The room stilled, her emotional tide evaporating and drawing her magic with it until all was calm and quiet, save for a few faint notes drifting from the record player. She breathed in once, twice, then turned her senses inward.  
It was easy to find even without magic, the heartbeat was strong, but her rhythm jittered a touch off pace, Cereza could feel it. 

Breath catching her throat, she ‘watched’ the beat and it’s little magic spikes for a moment longer, feeling a wash of relief when both began to settle down. She rested there a long moment, limbs loose and relaxed, eyes staring at nothing. Just… listening to the steady pattering from within.

And then she was on her feet and back in her bedroom, one hand fumbling through her summon void while the other remained on her belly, always tracking the rhythm. Her fingers finally closed around a smooth plastic object and she snapped her cell phone back into phase, the screen jolting to life and her contacts list appearing within a split second of re-existence.

She’d only just put the phone to her ear and heard half of the first ring when the other end picked up.

“Was wondering when I’d hear from you again today, pity I didn’t have anyone to make a bet with, I would have won.” Rodin’s voice was utterly smooth and calm, everything she wasn’t at present.

“Can my magic hurt her?” 

“... well, cut right to the chase then huh? I take it that means you figured out a way to prove me right?”

“Can. My. Magic. Hurt. Her?” panic edged her words and the jittering from her belly didn’t help.

“No. Do you really think your ancestors would have survived as long as they did if their little kiddies could be affected by their momma’s magic?” Rodin remained unperturbed at her tone. There was a rustle from across the line, then a faint squeaking, he must have picked up a glass and begun to clean it.  
“Guessing you freaked out a little when you figured it out huh? Maybe made a few things on your shelves shimmy and shake?” 

She didn’t reply, just swallowed harshly as she attempted to quell the flood of emotions threatening at the dam of forced calm.

“Fact is, not a lot of things can hurt an unborn umbra, after a long and nasty history of extra violence with angels I won’t go into now, your kind figured out ways to keep themselves safe. I’m sure Jeanne can tell you in detail later, but the point is, no, you can’t hurt your kiddo. She’s just gonna react to your magic a bit, especially at this early stage.”  
There was a muffled ‘clunk’, and then another round of squeaking across the line as the barman continued the calm upkeep of his tiny glasses. “So you can panic as much as you want, she’ll be fine. Oh, and Bayonetta? Congrats.” 

There was a long moment of near silence, save for the continuous squeaking of the glass and rag,  
and then Bayonetta hung up. 

She had no more words, no more sass, only a tumult of emotions she didn’t quite know how to handle. 

Her arm feel limp to her side, still loosely clutching her phone, and she stood in the center of her bedroom for a long moment, staring blankly at the wall and drowning in the dull roaring of her mind.  
The classic pendulum clock in the hall chimed the hour of nine, the record player cricked over to a new song, and the wind chimes outside the window tingled in a slight morning breeze.  
It was all she could to to simply notice these sounds, to hook herself somewhere in reality. 

Everything else seemed out of place and scattered. 

No matter how much she tried to focus, her mind remained a whirlwind, spinning round and round and churning everything to a frantic black mess. It wasn’t until her phone slipped from her fingers that she realized she was shaking. 

It had fallen face up on the soft surface of the carpet, and it’s screen flickered back to life, displaying her contact screen with it’s very short list of people. One of whom being Jeanne.

Oh god, Jeanne. 

She’d have to tell Jeanne.

She choked on air and her fists clenched, mind whirring faster and faster. The shelves and picture frames rattled. 

The heartbeat flickered.

Everything stilled. She quashed her magic, her fear down, and focused, finding the heartbeat without trouble. It wasn’t the actual heart that was flickering, she realized, it was the magic that emanated from it. The two were difficult to tell apart, so intertwined where they, but it was at least reassuring that the spikes she felt weren’t from the tiny heart within. 

…  
How big was it?

She unconsciously went to pick up her phone, turning the screen back on-

And remembered what had made her panic. 

Staring down at the picture of Jeanne on her contacts list, a cheeky photo she’d snapped when Jeanne hadn’t been paying attention, Bayonetta rubbed at her temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache. 

“Fuck.” she muttered, dropping her arm to her side and walking back to the bathroom to quickly swallow down a few aspirin from the nearly full bottle. The sight of the test strips made her pause. She should toss them. Honestly, it wasn’t as if she couldn’t prove to Jeanne that she was….. well, she didn’t need the strips, not if she could get Jeanne to sense the flicker of foreign magic there, like Rodin had done.  
Still…. she wrapped the paper towel around them and dropped both them and their box in the waste bin, out of sight for prying eyes, but there if she needed further proof.

What was she going to do? How had this even happened? When had it happened? 

She needed Jeanne. 

Jeanne knew these kinds of things, had been the perfect Umbran Heiress all their years of growing up, had studied every aspect of their clan, their culture, their magic. Jeanne would have the answers. 

But she had to tell Jeanne about it before she could ask. 

She picked up her phone again and left the bathroom, going over to sink down on the plush top of the mattress and holding her phone aloft to stare at the list of Jeanne’s numbers. Work, cell, and home.  
Jeanne was at work at the moment, probably just entering the third period if Bayonetta remembered the school's summer tutoring schedule right. That meant her cell was either set to vibrate, or off altogether.  
After their fight that morning, Bayonetta wouldn’t be surprised at the latter…. through she rather doubted Jeanne’s often overbearing protective streak would allow her to keep it turned off all day. Too worried about missing a call for help, one that Bayonetta had never actually sent her way, never needed to send her way.

Until today.

She screwed up her face and closed her eyes, moving her hand to rest the tip of the cell phone against her forehead as if it would help her think rationally. 

It wouldn’t do to call Jeanne at work, she’d either not get an answer at all, or she’d get a testy Jeanne who would probably panic at her news and rush home. Then they’d both be in a state. 

Well, if she was being honest, she had no idea how Jeanne would react. 

Scenario upon scenario flashed through her mind, each less lucid than the last. A Jeanne panicked and frazzled at the news, a Jeanne furious about the implications, a Jeanne altogether indifferent to the baby. 

Gods.

A baby.  
Their baby.

“Fuck.” She repeated, feeling her insides twist further.

She was at least mildly proud that she managed to keep her panic from translating into magic, but it still didn’t diminish the overwhelming tide that rose back up, wearing down her sense of reason. 

What was she supposed to do now? What could she do now?

Nothing, except to finish making dinner... and continue to panic.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is so much Cereza doesn't understand, so she begins to look for answers.  
> But the more she learns, the less she likes.

Dropping her phone and letting it fall back into her summon void, she got up from the bed and strode purposefully from the room. Marching straight back to the kitchen and returning to the abandoned chicken, she took up the sauce ladle and began slathering the concoction across the body with exaggerated force. 

Flecks of sauce and chicken juice spattered the formerly spotless countertop. She dumped the ladle back in the sauce and sent a current of it up over the lip of the bowl, then tugged the ladle back out, sending more spots across the counter.

She ignored it all, focus only half on her actions and the rest upon the still jumbled mess of her mind. Landing on a single shard of thought only to have it shatter into a thousand more anxious needles. 

It wasn’t until the ladle clattered against the side of the glass that she realized she had poured the whole of the sauce bowl into the chicken pan, the bird practically floating in a pond of the stuff. 

Blinking, she considered her next action in a muddled stream of thought, but gave up halfway through and clattered the lid of the pan down over the whole thing with an angry grunt. She managed to keep her inhuman strength in check enough to lift the pan without throwing it into the air, and to open the fridge door without ripping it off it’s hinges, but after dropping the pan down on the lowest shelf she flicked the door shut and flinched at the harsh ‘CLACK’ that sounded out as it made contact.

Wonderful. Hopefully nothing was broken or she’d have to explain  _ that  _ as well. 

She set about cleaning up the mess she had made, sometimes slopping more water than was necessary across the counter tops and then fiercely wiping it back up again. By the time she was finally finished the record player had gone silent and she was left alone in a quiet home, with just her thoughts for company.

Thoughts she had been avoiding.

Damn it, they were still just as chaotic as they had been twenty minutes ago, and there was not a single ray of insight within them about how to broach the subject with Jeanne. 

She leaned against the counter, staring sightlessly down at the open cookbook as if it would give her some grand advice. 

Giving grand advice was what Rodin would do, in his own languid way, but much as Bayonetta found his easy friendship and comradery a comfort, she didn’t dare call him again, especially not to ask help in telling Jeanne that she had gotten her pregnant 

Roden would probably suggest a good stiff drink first, then a well worded but blunt statement that laid it out in one go. 

With a half groan, Cereza shoved off from the counter and began to pace the length of her kitchen.    
It wasn’t an altogether terrible plan, Jeanne tended to be a tad bit more relaxed after having a few drinks, and it would help to break up the possible tension at the start of the meal. Their morning spat paled in comparison to what Cereza was going through now, but it would still be fresh in Jeanne’s mind.

Cereza was before the wine cabinet a scant second later, studying each bottle in the rack before choosing a vintage Pinot noir, one of Jeanne’s personal favorites and one of the strongest on the shelf. 

She had already retrieved a wine glass and was halfway to tightening the corkscrew down before she realized what she was doing.

The exact thing Rodin had refused to do earlier in the day, serve her a strong drink. 

Her fingers flew from the bottle as if she had been burned. 

Damn, she was  _ pregnant _ , she wasn’t allowed to drink, no matter how much she wanted  to .    
And she really  _ really  _ wanted too.    
  
Growling in frustration she ran her hands through her hair and began to pace the length of the kitchen, plans for the evening whirling through her head.    
  
She could say it as soon as Jeanne returned home from work, nip the problem right in the bud, but that would make things more difficult. Jeanne was often strung out after dealing with teenagers all day and needed a bit of time to herself before being calm and collected. If Cereza cut to the chase immediately, she had no doubt that tempers would get involved.    
That wasn’t anything she thought she could handle on top of all her own insane emotions.    
  
The rug under the sink was crooked, she marched over and straightened it out with her heel, then stared down at it, chewing on her lower lip.

If she waited until after Jeanne’s ‘after work’ ritual, but before dinner, it would give Jeanne a better chance to explain, well, everything. Not to mention help her figure out ‘when’ this had happened.

And that was another issue, when  _ had  _ she gotten pregnant?

Thinking back, she couldn’t pinpoint any particular time that stuck out as suspicious, no strange lights or accidental murmured incantations. Actually, she didn’t know  _ how  _ Jeanne had knocked her up, Rodin’s little speech had jogged a few memories free, but not nearly enough for her to understand the ‘how’.

She pressed the heel of her palm to her forehead and began pacing again.

Great, she’d have to tell Jeanne she was pregnant and  _ then  _ ask her how the Umbran ‘birds and bees’ worked. This was beginning to sound more and more like a terrible teenage pregnancy arc on a soap opera. 

Dinner would be a calm place to bring it up, but the question was exactly when and how to bring it up.   
  
Casually? ‘Would you pass the salt love? and oh by the way, Rodin informed me that you’ve placed a bun in my oven, care to explain?’.    
She snorted at that mental image and banished the idea. Jeanne would probably take that as a jest like she had done with Rodin, then she’s had to convince Jeanne of the reality of it, which would be all sorts of aggravating.

She bit her lip and paused in her pacing long enough to absently reach for the wine bottle again, then jerked her hand back.   
  
Damn.

She knew Jeanne would suspect something if she didn’t drink with dinner, but Jeanne would also suspect something if wine was absent at the table altogether. 

Maybe a romantic dinner wouldn’t be the best way to go, too much time for suspicion and worry to build. If there was one thing Jeanne’s guilty little pleasure of trashy lesbian romance novels had taught her, it was that people would always jump to the worst conclusion possible when given space to jump. She turned on her heel and paced to the cookbook, eyes looking down at the recipe without really seeing it. 

Jeanne wasn’t prone to assumptions though, mind too keen and bladed tongue too sharp to sit idle in a fit of confusion. She’d know something was wrong as soon as she stepped through the door. As good as Bayonetta was at holding a charming front, Jeanne knew her better. She might play along for a while, smiling at playful jibes and flirting back at every honey laced word, but her sentences would start to curl around subtle questions, rooting deeper at every deflection Cereza would throw her way.

If Bayonetta somehow managed to go through the evening without tipping Jeanne off, which was a fifty-fifty possibility if she was being honest, Jeanne would turn the tables and resort to blunt questions which could only be answered with absolute truth or an outright lie. She was very good at that, Cereza suspected it was a skill gained from years as a high school teacher.

Sighing through her nose she padded out of the kitchen, mind continuing to race with possibilities for the evening, including a few where she said nothing at all and either claimed tiredness and went to bed early, or drug Jeanne off to said bed to blind them both with pleasure. 

She sighed again and raised her hand to rub her eyes under her glasses as she paused in the open living room, mind churning with chaotic froth. 

What if she led into it? Dropping a few hints here and there throughout dinner and then edging off Jeanne’s suspicion with a straightforward fact? Something really misleading at first,  _ ‘why do you work with teenagers, Jeanne? Why not younger children?’. _

That wouldn’t work well, they both knew why Jeanne didn’t work with younger children, they were loud and messy and didn’t like to sit still and listen. Well, teenagers were much the same but at least they had the capability of reasoning…. sort of, better than small children anyway. 

Small children like the one they would soon have-

Banishing that thought the second it entered her mind, she paused and drummed her nails against the counter. She couldn’t afford to panic over more than one problem at a time, if she could get  past  informing Jeanne about the situation, the two of them could… panic together? Calmly plan for the things ahead of them? Something.

Ugh, she had no answers, just more questions, more and more until her head was churning with them. She put the wine away, put the glass up and tossed the corkscrew in the drawer of the wine cabinet. That didn’t reduced the temptation to drink, but the act was at least comforting in it’s dedicated finality. 

_ ‘Now what?’ _

She stood in the kitchen, arms loose at her sides, and stared around at her home. 

Normally she’d enjoy the space and quiet, settle down to sew her latest project or watch some tawdry movies, or even spend some time out in the flowerbeds with her newfound interest in casual gardening, but somehow she didn’t think she’d find any enjoyment in her usual hobbies. 

It wasn’t until she leaned back against the counter that she realized one of her hands was resting squarely on her belly. 

She tore her hand away as if it had been burnt, and then glared at it as she formed a fist, nails biting hard into her palm. The treacherous thing, placing itself back over the tiny, uninvited occupant of her body. 

With a frown, she relaxed her hand and started at her palm, and then down at her stomach, a thought from before surfacing to the top of the mad froth of her mind.

How big was the thing? That would depend on how old it was, wouldn’t it? Which brought her back to the question,  _ when  _ had she conceived?

She had no answers to that. She had no answers to anything 

Cereza didn’t like being in the dark, didn’t like not knowing important details in her own life, she’d spent twenty years in relative complacency with ignorance, only to have ancient history drag her back to pain filled places and times that she had to relive with altogether too much clarity. 

She wasn’t sure if this situation was one that could lead back to such things, but she rather desperately hoped not. Hoped there wasn’t yet  _ another  _ prophecy or time loop that relied on her pregnancy, hopefully nothing that would force her to witness the darkest parts of her life for a fourth time.

She had no answers to any of it. Jeanne would know, Jeanne always knew about these things, but she had no idea how to tell Jeanne so that she could explain all that she knew.

She was trapped in every way possible, utterly alone, totally without a clue and unable to even begin to understand what was happening. Any books on the matter had likely burned with the  Umbran  Homeland during the witch hunts, so it wasn’t as if she could do any research on her own before she had to tell Jeanne....

With a groan, Cereza raised a hand to rub at her eyes under her glasses, a feeling of foolishness flushing through the already chaotic mess of her mind. 

There wasn’t any way for her to learn about the magic portion of this situation, but the science of it was a well versed subject, assuming that baby umbra did indeed develop like a normal human, and there was really no reason to assume otherwise. Conception might require a touch of dark arts, but humanity had been handling the rest of the progression for their entire existence.

Huffing an annoyed sigh she stalked through the house and down the hall, opening up the door to the study and striding across the red room to the computer desk. 

The screen flickered to life with a quick press of a button, the user log-in display showing off their two profiles, Jeanne’s icon that of a white lily, Cereza’s a blue crystal in the shape of a heart. Seeing them reminded Cereza that she had intended to look this information up on her phone earlier, but been distracted by the sight of Jeanne’s pretty face.

Letting out a hiss of annoyed air, she logged into her profile and loaded up the internet browser. “This better not be hormones acting up already, or we are going to have a bad time.” she muttered to herself, bringing up the search engine and typing in ‘pregnancy’.

That first search was too generic and she surfed uselessly along far too cheery ‘Mommy and Me’ websites for a good twenty minutes before her annoyance got the better of her. All those cloying, self assured women talking about their children and pregnancies like they were a treasured gift, sounding like sycophants trying to reassure themselves that their lives were truly better for being mothers.

She tried ‘stages of pregnancy’ next, and the ensuing results were far more scientific, though still occasionally choked with congratulatory upbeat phrases that praised the natural progress as more an achievement than a outcome of natural biology. Still it gave her a better idea where she stood, in terms of time. If the forces of Laguna, not to mention Rodin himself, had only just begun to detect her stowaway via the heartbeat, then it was likely around three weeks old. 

Not that it looked anything like the ‘kid’ Rodin had called it. In fact, most of the diagrams on the screen looked rather alien, somewhat disturbingly similar to the aforementioned forces of heaven. 

Cereza couldn’t help but make a face as she studied the images, a feeling of slippery unease shivering through her as she considered that something similar was resting within her at that very moment. She clicked through the next few images, ignoring the descriptions and explanations on each, until she landed on something that looked at least semi-human.

“Three months.” she read aloud, “Looks like that’s when a lot of milestones occur…”

She read on, flipping through each new stage and reading the developments of each until she reached the birthing stage, and then paused. The tiny thing wouldn’t be the only one undergoing change and growth for the duration, her body would willingly adjust and support it along. She had a general idea of the external symptoms, seeing pregnant women in public going about their daily lives hadn’t been something she’d paid any particular interest in, but thinking back on how huge their bellies seemed made Cereza shift in her chair, muscles wound tight. She opened a new tab and began another search. 

The more she searched, the more she learned, and the more she learned, the more tense she became. Fear and anxiety clutching at her heart, a well of black panic rising in her gut. Never bad enough to stir her magic up, but more than enough to set her on edge.

She didn’t want this. Any of it.

She didn’t want to deal with unstable hormones that would mess with her moods, with morning sickness and the stronger sense of smell that would make eating difficult. She didn’t want to need to limit her intake of caffeine and she certainly did not appreciate the lack of alcohol in her life for the next three years to endure the frankly unsettling concept of nursing (not that she could really get drunk short of drinking enough to knock out a horse, magical immunity at all that, but that wasn’t the  _ point) _ .

And at the end of the pregnancy was labor. 

She was no stranger to pain, had endured years of it during rigorous training under Jeanne's tutelage, and taken more than a few good hits while battling the forces of heaven and hell, yet the description and first hand accounts of labor left her concerned.

True, magically enhanced endurance and healing abilities would probably mean she wouldn't have  _ as  _ difficult a time, yet….

Cereza shuddered, the dread in her guts churning over into a spike of nausea.

Ultimately the whole ordeal would end, but the outcome of it would be a baby. A real, human baby, one who would cry for every little need and would require constant attention and care, who would need to be fed and have diapers to change. Who would be utterly helpless for at least the first five years of it's life, and dependent on her for at least fifteen more after that. 

That wasn't even considering the dangers poised by Laguna. The forces of heaven were a constant threat, and while she and Jeanne could handle any impudent angels looking for trouble, trying to look after a child while doing so was not a simple feat. She'd learned that lesson twice over, once with her younger self, then again with Loki, and at least the second one had been able to fend for himself. Somewhat. 

A newborn wouldn't have such skills, and a growing child of umbra blood might make a very tempting target. 

_ Everything _ would revolve around the child.

She'd be lucky to return to her current lifestyle -utterly free and in control of nearly everything, a situation she relished with abandon- in twenty years, at best. At least until the child could form a pact with a Madama and protect itself, which was another thing it would have to be taught how to do.

She leaned back in her seat, eyes unfocusing from the computer screen as her numb fingers slipped off the mouse, her mind somehow more tumultuous now than it had been before. Her insides felt like ice, freezing and heavy, pulling her down while her brain twisted in on itself in panic.

She didn't want this. 

It wasn't anything she had ever wanted, and she certainly did _not_ want it now that she and Jeanne had finally, _finally_ found their hard earned peace.

But if she didn't want it… that meant…

Cereza swallowed hard and looked down at her belly, forcibly resisting the urge to tap into the heartbeat that rested there, for she didn't think she had the heart to listen to the little one inside of her while considering the next step.

She bit her lip and rested her elbows up on the desk, twinging her hands together and leaning forward to rest her chin on them, the diagrams of infant growth on the screen before her seeming to glare back in a judgmental manner. 

It wasn't a baby yet, not really. It was just a cluster of cells that had only  _ just  _ grown the first of many parts needed to become alive. A cluster of cells made from herself and Jeanne, but cells nonetheless. 

Cereza had destroyed many things, and the fallout from her battles with Laguna had cost lives, yet the stark difference between those situations and what she was considering gave her pause. Destruction was inevitable when fighting creatures as large as buildings, and collateral damage was something she tried to consider, but Laguna was hardly interested in the safety of mortals when their lofty goals were in reach. It had become apparent early in her career as a modern Umbra that it was best to focus on thwarting the grand scheme of the forces of heaven, the casualties were less than if she attempted to drag out a fight away from populated areas. 

It wasn't as if she hadn't killed another human before. Enzo's jobs ran the gamut from legitimate bounties to loan shark repo, and while neither of them wanted to dive too deeply into the webbed mess of the criminal underground, there had been a time or two when someone had attempted to  _ pull  _ her down.

Yet the choice before her felt leaden, impossibly heavy and toxic in every respect. Two options laid out in a forked path, one of which lead down a road that would alter every aspect of her life and world, and the other wherein she was forced to destroy yet another being in the Trinity.

One would cost her freedom and bodily self, but would create something new. The other would cost her morals, but would leave her the life she loved…

Cereza's cell phone buzzed, the electronic device rippling through her summon void and tingling along her senses. 

She jumped, and blinked bleary eyes away from the computer screen, glancing around the study only to realize it was late into the afternoon.

She'd been studying for hours, and was somehow even more strung out and panicked than she had been before.

Leaning back in her chair, Cereza dipped her hand into her summon void and flicked out her phone, the screen lighting up to display a text message notification.

It was from Jeanne.

Cereza's blood went cold, and the hand holding the phone tensed, threatening to crack the flimsy device. With a hard swallow, she flicked her code in and brought up the messaging system.

_ 'Going out for a teachers night. Don't wait up for me. J~’ _

The clipped demeanor and lack of a closing statement of love spoke volumes about how angry Jeanne must have been, not to mention calling an ‘teachers night’ on a Tuesday.

True, the summer tutoring program only ran Monday through Wednesday ( why Jeanne allowed herself to be roped into extra work during break Cereza still hadn't worked out ), so it wasn't quite as desperate as it sounded, yet it was still sharply out of the norm for Jeanne. 

Which only made Cereza all the more uneasy.

Rodin had asked about Jeanne acting odd, more possessive and protective than usual, maybe their spat this morning had only served to rile her up further, if she was acting on unconscious impulses because of Cereza's pregnancy…

There was really no way to know what state she'd be in when she got home. Certainly not one that Cereza could rely on for help and understanding.

Which, unfortunately, Cereza could desperately use both.

She thought about texting a reply, but couldn't think of anything that wouldn't possibly invite more of Jeanne's ire, and she was certainly  _ not _ going to beg Jeanne to come home, no matter how frazzled and terrifying the situation was. Which meant that she was alone with her thoughts, probably for the rest of the night.

Well, not  _ entirely _ alone, and wasn't that the crux of the problem?

With one last uneasy look at the computer screen and the images upon it, Cereza hastily shoved the office chair back and took to her feet, closing all the internet windows and logging herself out. 

Dinner would be late at this rate, but it wouldn't matter much since she was the only one to eat it fresh.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a thorny haze. Her every motion deliberate and controlled, but her thoughts still far away from the present. Chicken put in the oven, she set about making a salad, and when that was done, she stood in the kitchen and flexed her fingers nervously, unable to hold still for a moment without her mind spiraling into chaos. She began to make dessert, a heavy and complex chocolate cake recipe that had not been in her plans, but took time and effort to make.

By the time the chicken had finished cooking, she had made four extra side dishes, all of them prepared to perfection, and she set everything out on the table as if expecting to host a number of people, but really, when she finally sat herself down and looked over the venerable feast she'd created, she never felt more alone and lost.

Worse, nausea churned her belly over and stalled her appetite. Whether it was 'morning sickness’ or a symptom of her anxiety, she wasn't sure. 

She ate half a plate of food, barely tasting the perfectly marinated meat or the crispy salad, and didn't even bother to try the decadent cake before she began to clean up and stow away the leftovers.

By then it was just barely 6pm, the sun still bright and alive in the heat of July, and the house was quiet and empty.

She settled on the couch and folded her hands in her lap, if only to keep them from twitching, her mind still a churning froth of panic and a gnawing sense of guilt.

“Well, if there's ever a cure for overthinking…” Cereza muttered to herself as she picked up the tv remote and began to flick through channels. 

The hours melted painfully by, tar-like in their slow burn, the tv continually blaring out inane show after inane show. Cereza found herself drawn into some of the more raunchy and ridiculous programs, just enough to forget her  _ problem  _ and the panic it brought, only to inevitably be drawn back down when reality crept up to bite her.

The worst came when she attempted to channel surf and froze when the sound of a baby cry echoed through the speakers. The show was some crime drama or other and the authorities on-screen were dealing with an abandoned newborn, all of them failing miserably to calm the child down.

_ “If there's two things in this world I hate its cockroaches and crying babies.” _

Cereza slammed the power button on the remote and the living room fell into darkness. 

She drew her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, letting out a shaky breath as her eyes adjusted to the dark.

Her umbra enhance sight allowed her to see the analog clock on the wall, which read the hour of 10:24. Not late by any means, but enough that the summer sun had finally set and left the world in darkness.

Said darkness brought no clarity, and as she slowly got to her feet, Cereza realized just how very weary she was.

The day of emotional rollercoasters had drained her more than a good battle with a high choir angel, and though black panic still chewed at her guts and brain she found that she had no energy to pay it anymore attention.

She showered in silence (enduring a sharp spike of anxiety upon entering her bathroom and remembering the test strips in the waste bin), and towelled off in a state of numb distraction, mind both everywhere and nowhere at once.

Settling into bed by herself was made all the more unpleasant by thinking about Jeanne out on the town somewhere, drinking heavily and probably complaining about their fight this morning to her far more drunk co-workers. 

Despite her exhaustion, sleep was elusive. Cereza tossed and turned under the silky sheets, twisting them nearly as much as her own writhing mind. Crowded terrors of 'what ifs’ and 'now what's’ intermingled with intrusive images, all the while that heartbeat pattered on in the background of her conscious.

A scant number of hazy hours later, the rumble of Jeanne's motorcycle drug her up from an uneasy and unknown sleep, the sound jarring across her bones and rattling her brain. Rolling over in bed, Cereza squinted at the digital click on Jeanne's nightstand, 2:31 AM.

Cereza sat up in bed, hands fisting in the sheets. What was she going to do? She couldn't say anything now; Jeanne would be at  _ least  _ slightly drunk, and almost certainly still rankled over their fight...

The engine roared down the driveway, magic wards trembling at the arrival, there was a sharp squeak of breaks, the bikes low purring idle, and then the sound abruptly cut off.

Cereza heard the kickstand being lazily clicked out, heard the squeak of Jeanne's riding leathers as she dismounted the bike and the sharp clack of her heels across the driveway. The front door unlocked and opened after a momentary fumbling, then muffled footsteps across carpet before the door was shut and locked again.

Cereza's breath caught in her throat, her whole world focused on Jeanne's next move. She waited to hear the footsteps down the hall, for Jeanne to step into their bedroom with bedraggled hair and glazed eyes, for the moment she would have to decide how to handle-

There was a  _ flumph  _ and the whisper of a throw blanket being pulled off the back of the couch, then the clatter of boots being tossed to the floor and an undignified  _ THUD. _

Jeanne had literally crashed on the living room floor. 

She hasn't done that since before they had bought the house. She'd come home as close to drunk as her Umbran blood and magical resistance would allow, but had always staggered to their room and slumped into their bed, snuggling close to Cereza like a very affectionate cat.

That she'd very deliberately chosen the hard floor spoke volumes of Jeanne's mental state.

Or the state she thought Cereza might be in.

A flash of hurt was quickly followed by a bolt of irritation.    
How  _ dare  _ Jeanne keep her distance? How dare she hold onto her anger and deny Cereza the simple comfort and calm that was her reassuring  presence  in bed. How  _ dare _ she assume Cereza wouldn't want her there in the first place, argument or not.

Cereza had half a mind to fling herself from the bed and march to the living room, yank Jeanne up by her club tousled suit and drag her back to their bed.

The thought of doing just that had her sitting up in bed and reaching for her glasses, but the instant her fingers brushed cold frame, reality returned.    
Jeanne wouldn't be in any state to understand… well, anything, and certainly not the subject they so desperately needed to discuss. Cereza stilled, waiting for a sound that might indicate that Jeanne had changed her mind, but the house was silent.

After a long moment, Cereza fell back against the bed and struggled to find rest in the far too large and empty bed.

Once again, Cereza felt she had hardly fallen asleep before the bleary light of dawn brushed her eyelids and began to stir her mind awake.

Her stomach lurched, snapping her from pleasant drowsiness and into jagged consciousness.

She rolled to her side and held her breath, pressing one hand over her mouth and fighting the nausea back, face screwing up in pain and concentration. It was all she could do to breathe through her nose and push down the roiling pressure to retch. 

With a final painful pang, the nausea relented. 

She lay still for a moment longer, curled in on herself, then finally took a deep breath and sat up. 

“Well,” She breathed out, swinging her legs over the side of the bed, “seems a bit too early for morning sickness, unless I’m particularly unlucky.” she ran a hand through her hair and reached for her glasses, hand shaking ever so slightly

A pattering clatter came from the kitchen and she frowned at the bedroom door before glancing at the alarm clock on the nightstand.    
6:04AM.

Forgoing her Egyptian cotton robe and her wool lined slippers, Cereza stood swiftly from the bed and stalked out of the room, by then had to pause in the doorway when another surge from her stomach threatened to rise up.

This second round of nausea passed with less effort, and she shoved off the door frame with mounting frustration. Said frustration instantly forgotten when she passed down the hall and came to a stuttering halt in the living room, her eyes wide and unbelieving the sight before her.

The living room was perfectly tidy.

Everything was where it belonged; couch pillows neatly arranged, throw blankets tastefully dropped over the back of the furniture. Jeanne's boots sitting neatly in the shoe rack and her coat on the hanger by the door.

Strangest of all, Jeanne herself was awake, and moving about the kitchen with determined intent.

Cereza padded further into the open space of the house, alternating glances between the pristine living room and Jeanne's form over the coffee machine. 

Confusion -currently her emotional best friend- and worry snaked through her chest. “Jeanne?” she called out, mentally wincing at the hesitation in her voice, at the unease that permeated every moment.

Jeanne glanced up sharply from the coffee pot, her pinched expression only exasperated by the dark circles under her eyes. “Finally, you’re up.” Jeanne’s voice was a touch  hoarse , and clipped at the edges. “I have to get ready for work- that,” she gestured to the coffee machine, “will be done in a moment. Excuse me.” She stalked across the kitchen floor, her work suit from the day before rumpled and creased in places, but worn mostly upright across her frame.

“Jeanne I-” Cereza had no idea what words could possibly be spoken from her lips next, but she didn’t get a chance to find out. Jeanne brushed past her with a half glance from flinty grey eyes and a flash of white hair.

Cereza spun to follow Jeanne's retreating back, one hand reaching up as if to grab at her arm- but Cereza froze and simply watched Jeanne stride to their bedroom. Nearer and yet further away from her as she had been in years.

Hurt gave way to irritation, and Cereza dropped her hand as it curled into a fist. She turned to the kitchen and the coffee machine, intent on fighting her weariness with the Jeanne's brew (which she knew from experience was as dark and strong as the woman's magic), but paused just as she was about to reach for a mug.

“Fuck.” She muttered to herself. 

No caffeine, no coffee.

With a groan, Cereza leaned forward until her forehead rested against one of the kitchen cabinets, weariness dragging on her bones and a headache threatening at her temples.

She probably should no longer be surprised how quickly her world could go from wonderful to horrible, it had happened enough during her life. Yet each unpleasant time always upturned her life on the grandest scale.

At least those times before had allowed her the comforts of caffeine and booze, this particular incident was robbing her of both, for months. 

The faint sound of the shower from the master bathroom drew her from her melancholy thoughts and back to the problem at large. 

Well, perhaps she could solve at least part of her problems with a peace offering. 

Still dressed in her nightgown, Cereza set about making breakfast, the warmth of the kitchen and the soothing scent of brewing coffee allowing her a comfortable rhythm that almost soothed her nerves. 

Almost.

Two bowls of whole grains, fruit, and yogurt didn’t take long to make, but the sound of the shower was gone when she was only half way through preparation, and she’d only just managed to finish the mix when Jeanne reappeared. 

Jeanne’s stride down the hall was just as edged as when she had left, and though her hair and her face was clear of makeup - she looked as radiant as the full moon, as she always had-, the flinted anger in her features was still present. 

Cereza managed a smile, though she knew it looked uneasy at best, “Breakfast? I can get you some pain killers if you have a headache.”

“I’m fine,” Jeanne said, and while it wasn’t quite a snap, Cereza still had to resist flinching, “I need coffee first.” 

Perhaps it was  fortunate that Jeanne was still angry with her, for when she went to pour herself a mug of the strong brew she failed to offer Cereza one as well. It was both a painful rejection, and a relief not to need to think up an excuse to refuse the offer.

“You made quite the feast last night.” Jenne spoke up as she mixed in her creamer. Her flat tone did nothing to cover the barbed question Cereza could hear buried within.

“Yes well,” Cereza stirred the breakfast mix, watching the colors of the berry juice swirl into the vanilla yogurt, “I thought a nice dinner might… ease the tension.”

Jeanne didn’t reply, just took a long drink of her coffee. When she finally turned to face Cereza, the anger in her eyes had abated, but her face was still drawn taut, her ruby lips pursed. 

They watched one another in silence for a long, uncomfortable moment, then Jeanne walked to the counter next to Cereza, giving breakfast a once over. “Well, I’m sure everything you made will still taste wonderful tonight.”

Cereza nodded and wordlessly offered Jeanne one of bowls, Jeanne took it with a quiet thanks, and the two of them ate in mutual uncharacteristic quiet. 

The anxiety from the day before was back with reinforcements. Cereza’s heart thundered in her chest, her mind breaking back into a thousand shards of panic. What could she-

“I’ll be back late tonight,” Jeanne said, her spoon clattering along the edges of her empty bowl. “Next week is the end of the summer extra course semester, and the section heads are holding a meeting about the fall semester.” she moved to the sink and rinsed her dishes, then turned back to Cereza, her gaze calculating. “I’ll try to get out of it as quickly as I can, if you would wait for me, we can enjoy your meal together… and perhaps talk.” 

“That would be,” Cereza’s voice cracked and she had to clear her throat, dropping her gaze to the countertop to keep from losing control of more than just her voice, “good, talking would be lovely.”

The moment hung between them for a long, awkward few seconds, neither of them quite meeting each other's gaze. Cereza’s stomach clenched into a thousand knots of fear, of longing and truth that threatened to broil up to the surface. 

Her breath hitched and she opened her mouth, the words trapped somewhere between her throat and tongue and ready to leap out-

But Jeanne grunted low in her own throat and swept from the kitchen. “Don’t worry about my lunch, I’ll grab something on the way out.” 

Whatever hints of forgiveness that had existed in the conversation before had vanished in the short wisps of Jeanne’s words -though she sounded more weary than angry- and the confession burning in Cereza’s mouth was doused.

Cereza blew out a long slow breath and sank down to rest her elbows on the kitchen counter. The tumult of her emotions seeping together into a dreadge of pure misery. A sticky mess that was not dissimilar to the now unappetizing bowl of much she dully prodded at.

The muffled click of heels on carpet drew her from her thick thoughts, Jeanne entering the room dressed in a perfectly pressed red work suit that accented her lithe frame, perfectly applied makeup, her lips glittering ruby in the morning light, and perfectly brushed hair, the white locks flowing behind her as she moved. 

Jeanne stopped just at the edge of the living room, leaving a space only a few feet wide between them but that felt like miles. “Well,” Jeanne said, “I’ll see you this evening.” 

Cereza stood slowly, nodding. “Have a good day,” she managed to say around the dread in her throat, “Don’t let your students get to you too much.

It was a shadow of their normal morning farewells, a weak gesture of the true scenario they normally played out with heartfelt intent, albeit laden with signature sass, but for the moment this spectre of their interactions was all either of them could manage, and it was strangling Cereza from the inside out. 

Jeanne was down the open passage to the front door and pulling her leather riding jacket on before Cereza’s mind caught up with the moment. 

“Jeanne-!” she abandoned her meal and rushed towards the door, Jeanne only just turning to face her when Cereza moved in and kissed her.

She meant it to be a quick, chaste thing, an affirmation of her love, but the moment their lips met she couldn’t help the way her arms snaked around Jeanne’s hips, how she pulled Jeanne closer, relishing in the warmth and the realness of their touch. 

Jeanne went stiff for a split second, a span of a heartbeat that Cereza feared she might push Cereza away, but then Jeanne relaxed and reached up to cup Cereza’s face, thumb stroking along Cereza’s cheek. Jeanne deepened the kiss and rested her free hand on Cereza’s hip to pull them together, both of them moaning at the flush contact of their bodies.

They pulled apart with a slow lingering withdraw, briefly resting their foreheads together before finally lifting their heads to look one another in the eye.

Jeanne’s face was lined with old regret and sorrow, gazing into Cereza’s eyes with love and longing. She opened her mouth to say something, then froze, her expression furrowing into puzzled lines. She closed her lips and her steel colored eyes flickered over Cereza’s face, searching for something.

“You’re going to be late,” Cereza said quietly, reluctantly letting Jeanne go and then reaching up to lightly dab at edges of Jeanne’s mouth, fixing the lipstick she had slightly smeared in kissing, “we’ll talk this evening.”

“Right…” Jeanne took a half step back, still looking uneasy and bewildered, “right, I’ll see you later.”

“I love you.” Cereza said without any preamble or teasing or any of her normal deflective habits, only honest emotion. She was too tired to feel anything other than that simple and clean feeling of love for her Jeanne, the one thing that had always shone through in her often rough life. 

“I… love you too.” Jeanne replied, clear worry flashing through her eyes. “Cereza, are you alright?”

“Fine Jeanne,” Cereza managed a tired smile through the lie, “You’re really going to be late, we’ll sort this all out when you get home. Go on.”

Jeanne nodded, and slowly turned to the door. With one last look over her shoulder, which made Cereza wave at her with another weary smile, Jeanne stepped out into the warm summer morning and was off on her way too work. A few moments later the familiar roar of Angel Slayer shook the peaceful silence of their home before grumbing off down the driveway and rumbling down the country road towards town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so very much for all the wonderful comments and kudos, they've stuck with me as I've eked this together.  
> You are all awesome readers. <3


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